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Notes from Fat City

June 18, 2010
Adirondack Daily Enterprise

Several years ago a book came out called "Men Are from Mars, Women Are From Venus."

It explained the differences that caused all the conflicts, misunderstandings and general malaise that plague male/female relationships.

Or at least it purported to explain them. I'm sure it made some good points, but I'm also sure those same points could've been made in a two-page pamphlet. But since a two-page pamphlet can neither sell for a sawbuck nor get you on talk shows and the lecture circuit, where the real big bucks are, it got primped, pimped and padded into a full-length book.

To me it was just one more piece of pop shlock which could be dismissed by a bumper sticker I once had: "Men are from earth; women are from earth - deal with it."

Not to say there aren't significant differences between men and women. Of course there are. It just is, I think in explaining them, most "experts" overlook the basic fact of the matter: All men age but darn few mature.

This doesn't mean we can't accept responsibilities, hold jobs, raise families and all that. We can and we do. But those are mere externalities of The Outer Man. Because deep within every male - Nobel Prize winner, philanthropist, Olympic champion or pillar of the community - is a freckle-faced little miscreant with a frog in one hand and a slingshot in the other, ready to tear up the status quo.

And it's this little guy, The Inner Rascal, who causes the one behavior all men understand but almost no women do: Men don't break rules because they want to; they break them because they have to. I can think of no better example than me and my Blue Moon Breakfast Bonanzas, which have to do with my triple-bypass of some 14 years ago.

How did I end up with a triple-bypass? Simple, I had three clogged coronary arteries. And why were they clogged? Again, simple - I have coronary artery disease. And as a result I should abide by the rules of a heart-smart life, which are:

I shouldn't smoke - and I don't.

I shouldn't drink excessively -and I don't do that either.

I should get regular exercise, take my meds, avoid stress - all of which I do.

And saving the "best" for last, I should eat a diet low if not almost entirely lacking in fats. I do this in all areas but one - my breakfasts at the Blue Moon.



As far as I'm concerned, if you've seen one bypass, you've seen 'em all. This, however, is the exact opposite of breakfasts, whose variety is infinite. For example, some people consider plain oatmeal, unbuttered toast and a cup of decaf - a fine breakfast. To which I say, "Fie!" and "Feh!"

To me all breakfasts contain the basic food groups - eggs, cheese, butter, milk, with fried spuds thrown in for good measure. My Blue Moon favorite is a modified farmer's omelet. It's modified in that it usually contains ham, but since I don't eat meat, I have them double up on the cheddar.

And how smart is it to eat like that? Well, it depends of course on how you define "smart."

According to my doctors, it's stupid.

According to my brother, who's got two bypasses stenciled on his fuselage, it's moronic.

According to the Health Mafia, those cadaverous creatures whose idea of a hot time is bragging about their BMI, not only is it stupid and moronic, but it's gluttonous and unsightly as well.

But according to me, it's exactly how it should be.

I guess the real issue is my quality of life.

First, are my breakfasts going to kill me? Maybe. But that's provided I don't first get aced by a nut-job driver, homicidal maniac or treacherous cell lurking deep within, about to multiply beyond anyone's worst nightmare.

And frankly, given the almost total lack of consideration of drivers in My Home Town, coupled with total lack of crosswalk enforcement, the odds are I'll get killed crossing the street to the Blue Moon long before the food itself does me in.

Next, consider the pleasure factor. Yeah, I know there are people who absolutely love unbuttered rye toast, herbal tea and farina but I'm not one of them. I don't mind waking up hungry, but I don't ever intend to leave the breakfast table like that.


The Big Picture

And finally, does anyone ever consider The Big Picture of this breakfast mishegas? I doubt it, because here's how it'd go: Let's assume I became a good boy and gave up all the artery-cloggers, subsisting instead on Egg Beaters, spring water and rye crackers, and thus lived years longer.

So then what? I'll tell ya and it ain't pretty. A bunch of those longer years I'd be a resident - voluntarily or otherwise - of Wrinkle City, where I'd have my every need attended to because I couldn't attend to them myself.

And guess what I'd have for b'fast there? It'd be all about groovin' and movin: Artifically sweetened Pablum would be for my groovin' stewed prunes would take care of the movin' (hopefully).

And to think, I could've avoided such a sad end if I'd just stuck with my old Blue Moon Cholesterol Express Specials which of course is just what I'm going to do.

Everyone agrees breakfast is the most important meal of the day, which is why I don't intend to take it lightly, in any sense of the word.



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